


Liminality

by Trill



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Tarot Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:59:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trill/pseuds/Trill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy hated letting other people use her computer. Particularly on Wednesdays. Especially when they tried to take over the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liminality

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sadirapookie's excellent and fun Tarot challenge. I drew the card "The World". 
> 
> This fic kept trying to be a dozen different things. I tried to keep it in line, but I'm not sure I succeeded. Enjoy.

The worst thing about Wednesdays, she had decided, was that they were an in between day. And though she herself was an in-between person, she preferred the ebb and flow of the calendar to have more restraint. 

Nothing good ever happened on a Wednesday. 

This one was no exception. 

~*~ 

Darcy sat cross-legged on the floor, an eyebrow raised in his general direction, “Seriously? This is your plan?” 

Loki gritted his teeth, pointedly not looking at her. He kept his gaze firmly on the monitor in front of him, his long fingers dashing across the keyboard. He struck the keys with a particular ferocity, and from her place in the corner she could see that the home row was starting to stick and shudder in the face of his abuse. The code was compiling slowly, data ticking steadily down the screen. 

“I mean-” She started to voice another complaint, and he cut her off with a long sigh, drawing his hands away from the laptop. “It's a shitty plan. You know that, right?” 

“Hush.” He snapped, leveling her with a green-eyed glare. She shifted her weight backwards to get a better look at him. He was tall, lean, and as day's of observation had shown her, Thor's complete opposite. Where Thor was broad, Loki was narrow. He was dark, his hair pulled back in what she was pretty sure was a scrunchie from her bathroom. He looked surreal, perched in her purple desk chair and lording over her impressive collection of Ikea furniture. His leather armor didn't make the squeaky noises her leather pants did- in fact, he was silent as he moved, like a cat. 

“No, seriously. You steal my computer-” 

“Borrow.” He insisted. 

“Steal. Because..?” 

“I need a computer.” 

“And you need my shitty Dell because?” 

“I am not allowed to have one unless Thor is there.” 

Darcy resisted the urge to snicker at the idea of Thor overseeing computer use. The guy was still trying to figure out how 'the Google' worked, and why he had so many companions of Facebook. At least once a week she got a text from Jane about his indignation over being 'poked'. “And... Thor's is occupied.” 

“Occupied.” He snapped, leaning closer to the screen. 

“By Jane.” 

“With Jane.” He confirms with a nod, “And the man of iron won't allow me to use-” 

“Stop adopting Thor's quirks. Tony, his name is Tony.” 

He sneered, “Tony won't allow me the use of his systems.” 

“Probably because you'd use them to take over the world, Pinky.” 

“What?” 

“Well, I'm not going to be Pinky in this situation. I'm more of a Brain. Minus the whole, taking over the world mindset.” She examined her chipping nail polish with a frown, “Am I going to have to sit in this corner forever?” 

“...I don't understand half the things that come out of your mouth,” He snorted. 

“Your loss.” 

“I highly doubt it.” He flexed his fingers and watched the code take over the screen line by line. Her router, perched precariously on a pile of books, blinked rapidly. 

“Anyways, back to your shit plan. You're going to take over the world with a computer virus? I'm pretty sure that plot got old in the eighties,” 

“It's not a virus, it's a subversion of-” 

“Nope.” 

“...what?” 

“I've seen this movie. You lose.” 

~*~ 

Darcy had believed in magic for as long as she could remember. 

When she was 5, she was convinced that Aslan was going to whisk her off to Narnia. She spent a hot, sticky New Mexican summer exploring the homes of all her Nana's friends, checking the backs of closets for portals to Narnia. She carried on conversations with her stuffed toys, renamed the family pony Bree and on one notable occasion, tried to climb the fence into the lion enclosure at the Amarillo Public Zoo.  
(It wasn't until she was 13 and rereading the books for nostalgia's sake that she realized that Aslan was an allegory for Jesus and likely wouldn't be showing up for a girl who just celebrated her Bat Mitzvah.) 

When she was 11, she waited by their mailbox all day, scanning the sky for the owl who would bring her a letter from Hogwarts. Her copies of the books were threadbare and much abused, with water warped covers from days sitting by the side of the pool. Bree, who was once again Star, tried to eat her copy of Half Blood Prince. She searched the fire wood pile for a perfect wand. 

The closest thing to magic, Darcy discovered in junior high, was science. There was a very specific brilliance to the way chemicals came together and split apart, a beauty to each and every equal and opposite reaction in physics. 

Unfortunately, she also discovered she was a total science squib. 

Her formulas didn't balance. Her coefficients didn't parse and her carefully measured and calculated compositions fell apart. She could follow the jargon, she could see the overall result. She could follow steps A through B, and as she sat around the lab tables, she could keep up with the discussion. But whatever she touched turn to ash- her math didn't work. Her lab partner said she was cursed, and wouldn't let her even check on their pumpkin seeds for fear she'd kill them. Her science disasters were many. On one notable occasion, a basic sodium reaction she was working on set the whole school on fire. 

It had been a Wednesday.

(Of course it was a Wednesday.) 

~*~ 

“Seriously, though, I don't think you're fully understanding the sheer idiocy of your plan,” Darcy had found some shoelaces under her bed. They were a bright pink pair she'd bought for her favorite pair of chucks and then promptly lost, and she'd tied the ends together. She had been playing an elaborate game of cats cradle for the last hour, deft fingers twisting and pinching the thin laces in all the right places, “I don't think you even really have a plan.” 

“I didn't kidnap you,” Loki replied, posture still perfect in what she knew to be a terribly uncomfortable chair. 

“That's what you're focusing on?” Darcy did a double-take. 

“Well. You're here. You let me use your computer.” He shrugged, leaning back. 

“I think that stupid helmet has gone to your head.” She paused, a web of pink between her hands, “Wait. Is that what happened? The helmet drove you crazy?” 

“Don't be childish.” He shook his head, looking around her room. She had a few posters up, things she'd packed up when SHIELD brought them to New York from New Mexico. They were creased and torn, mostly, with curling edges. A few bands, a few television shows. She even had the Periodic Table, to match the cheap plastic shower curtain in her bathroom. His lip curled into a smirk, “Though, given the pink of your duvet, it may be difficult for you.” 

“Hey. Pink is an awesome color.” She balled up the laces, scowling. 

“Ah. Yes.” He let his gaze drift to the poster of the elements, “Of course. I'm just meant to point out that I didn't kidnap you.” 

“...Is that like, a personal bar you try to meet, or something?” She dropped her voice to match his pitch, “Well, least I didn't kidnap her.” 

She startled another laugh out of him, and he shook his head, “I meant it more as- you don't have to keep looking at me like that.” 

“Like what?” She raised a brow, the shoelaces crumpled in her hand. 

“Like I'm here against your will. You let me in.” 

“I didn't realize you'd spend the rest of the evening trying to hack into NORAD or whatever.” 

“...What did you think we'd do?” 

She scowled and stood, stretching up on her tiptoes. Her muscles whine from too long spent in 'crisscross applesauce', and she shook her head at him, “Don't know, Loki. I thought you super villains were more fun, that's all. At least less-” 

“...Super villain?” He interrupted. 

“You remember the whole... trying to take over Manhattan thing, right?” Her voice dripped with fake concern. 

“It was actually the world. Manhattan was just a convenient starting point.” He corrected, blase. 

“Helmet. It's gotta be the helmet.” 

“...What?” 

“Where you keep the crazy.” 

“How did you make it to adulthood without being murdered?” Loki's eyes were narrowed and he looked ridiculous in her spinny desk chair, just a few feet away from the Nickelback poster she'd bought (ironically, thank you) back in the early 'aughts. 

She laughed, shaking her head, “Magic.” 

“It's the only explanation I can think of after sharing a space with you.” He scowled. 

“Come on, code boy. I bet the kitchens are still open and we can grab a drink.” 

“...what?” 

“Your code is a mess. I think I've seen better parsing in my alphabet soup.” She leaned over his shoulder, and tapped the escape key. The window closed, and the router's frantic lights fell flat. Beneath the router, a wide, unopened envelope sat. She pointedly ignored it, her college's logo gleaming in the low light of her desk lamp. 

“You!” He stared, and stood quickly, turning to look at her, “I-” 

“One, you're not using my computer to do whatever the hell that was. Two, I could use a drink. Three, your programming abilities could use some help. So come on. And is there any way I could convince you to change?” 

“...What?” 

“Your clothes. Not your mind. Or your alignment. Something less...” She looked him up and down again, lips pursed, “Less like that.” 

~*~ 

In tenth grade, she decided that if she couldn't be a Girl Scientist Extraordinaire, she was going to be Science Adjacent. It wasn't particularly difficult- the science kids were her people. The nerds. The ones who liked to spend their lunch hours talking over Tolkien, Lewis and Gygax. She learned D&D, she played video games, and watched pretty much every film ever made in the 1980s.

She was damn good with C+. And HTML. And pretty much everything with computers. She ran a small local blog anonymously, going after the kings and queens of her small school. She played Pathfinder every Friday night, and their Super Smash Brothers tournaments were the stuff of legend. 

She liked the nerds. They were her people. 

In eleventh grade, they kicked her out of AP Physics. Her experiments essentially broke the laws of physics- a carefully measured and cut catapult did not, in fact, hit the target, but the principal's car. She kept the friends, of course. But she missed being so close to the magic. 

~*~

SHIELD's housing complex was huge. And, pardon the pun, complex. She lived on the eighteenth floor, with Jane just above her on the nineteenth. It was a nice enough apartment, minus the military beige of the walls. (Hence the Nickelback poster. She had a government worker's salary and student loans. Desperation led to madness.) The kitchenette had just enough room for a mini fridge and a microwave, so she took most of her meals in the cafeteria. The kitchen staff cleared out around nine, which meant she did a lot of her cooking at midnight. 

Sometimes Clint or Tasha stopped by. Thor, sometimes. Jane usually showed up around one, looking for a note or an obscure reference book and stayed for a cookie or two. 

“Sit.” She pointed at the island's industrial counter, a few bar stools tucked beneath it. She didn't turn to see if she'd been obeyed, gliding into the walk-in with purpose. It took a few minutes of digging and rearranging of produce, but she found what she was looking for tucked behind a bag of wilting spring greens. 

When she reappeared, he was perched carefully on the edge of a stool, frowning at his surroundings. The kitchen was full of reflective surfaces, stainless steel and shining pots and pans that hung from racks suspended from the ceiling. They even had a giant pizza oven back here, powered down for the evening. Why a government agency located in New York needed a pizza oven was beyond her, since you could grab a better slice on any block in any borough. 

She took the seat beside him and set the two sweating bottles between them, “You better appreciate these. Clint gets a couple of six packs whenever he gets down to Texas and hides them down here.” 

“Doesn't he have his own fridge?” Loki raised a brow but took one, examining the label. 

“Yeah, but Tony figured it out.” 

“Couldn't he just-” 

“Ship them up here? Buy the brewery?” She interrupted with a shrug, popping her bottle open, “I think it's just a game they play.” 

“You know this doesn't have any effect on me, correct? Thor has a higher tolerance, to be sure, the way he drinks down mead, but if your goal is to get me drunk and cause me to forget what you said about my programming, you're more a fool than I thought.” 

“Loki.” She stopped mid-swig, the bottle halfway to her lush red lips, “Are you accusing me of trying to take advantage of you through alcohol?” 

He scoffed, twisting his own beer open, “No, I was calling you an idiot.” 

“The point was that it tastes good and it'll piss off Clint.” She shrugged, “And maybe if I get you drunk you'll magically learn how to program. Weirder things have happened. Gods falling from the sky, dude builds a Gundam suit out of scraps. Shit like that.” 

~*~ 

By the time she'd finally moved all her well-loved paperbacks out of their boxes and onto the shelves of her tiny dorm room, it was time to pick a major. She'd spent her first semester in various elective classes, making the most of her scholarship. She took women's studies, dabbled in the computer science building and slept through most of an intro to philosophy class. She went to Early American History twice a week, and occasionally deigned to show up for her Facism in Literature elective. 

She dabbled. When she wasn't in class or sleeping through it, she was in the library or out on the quad, meeting people. Joining clubs- the obscure literature mag, the GSA, the table tennis appreciation society. She did a little of everything, just long enough to decide she wanted none of it. 

Fourteen hours into a West Wing marathon, the kind of television indulgence she could only enjoy when her roommate was out of town, she decided. 

Political Science. 

 

~*~

She fiddled with the pink shoe lace, trailing it through the condensation in the table, “So. Why the computer thing?” 

“It-” He hesitated, watching her chipped, nail polished fingers trail droplets of water across the table, “They bound my magic. Back in Asgard. Computers come close. I was hoping to- Well, I'm sure Thor explained about human science being close to Asgardian magic.” 

“The example he used, I'm pretty sure, was monkey sign language and Shakespeare,” She said dryly.

“...Something like that. More like amoebas and Captain America.” 

“Ah. That's much more complimentary,” She grinned at him through strands of brown hair that had fallen over her face. 

“I thought you'd appreciate the difference. It's not even children and adults- it's-”

“We're like a cargo cult.” She completed for him. 

“...What?” 

“Uh-” She considered, “Way back in like, World War II- I should ask Steve about it- the Americans, British, and Japanese were flying all over the world, to all these obscure islands and shit. The people had never seen outsiders, and we were airdropping clothes and books and food and stuff on their island ecosystems and cultures. They thought it was magic, I guess.” She felt herself go red under his gaze, dropping her eyes to the tabletop, “We're like a cargo cult. Or you think we're like a cargo cult, anyways.” 

“That...” He smiled, shaking his head in disbelief, “Is a particularly apt analogy. Especially for you.” 

“Asshole.” She reached out and swatted his arm, like she would to any of her friends. He jerked back, and silence fell. 

“What happened to them?” He broke the silence after a few long, awkward sips of beer. 

“To who?” 

“The cults.” 

She let out a dry laugh, brittle in the quiet kitchen, “They lit signal fires, and hoped their gods would return. Built headsets and landing strips and jeeps out of wood, mimicked the soldiers. Some of them even made airplanes out of straw, hoping to attract other airplanes in like, a weird airplane mating ritual, I guess. Eventually, most of them lost interest.” 

“So they just... stopped?” He frowned. 

“Well, I imagine we eventually stopped caring about Thor and Odin and Loki. Moved on to other gods. Other planes.” She shrugged, “But now we're back to building runways. Bifrosts. Same difference.” 

He fell silent, and for a few minutes the only sound was the hum of the fridge, and the air conditioning clicking on. 

She picked the label off her beer, laying the sopping scraps of logo on the gleaming stainless steel counter. The fluorescent lights above them hummed quietly along, and Loki hadn't moved since she'd finished talking. She took in a deep breath, and forced a smile, “Right. Wanna bake cookies?” 

“...Alright.” 

~*~

The internship was all she needed to complete her degree. 

Well, that and another math class. And she'd have to retake her Early American History class. 

And she'd need to cap off her Spanish classes, if she wanted a minor. Well, she needed a minor, but it was one more Spanish class or two more women’s studies classes and she really, really didn't need any more reasons to hate humanity. 

But the internship meant she wouldn't have to take two more science classes, and really, she was running out of options. Dr. Borshuk had banned her from the Chemistry labs three weeks into Organic Chem. Dr. Grass had pretty much run her out of the Engineering building when she tried to take the introductory course in Wind Energy. 

So, she'd applied to be an intern for Jane Foster's astrosomethingorother expedition. It was a last ditch effort to avoid Anatomy, or, as her ex-pre-med friends called it, The Reason We Will Never Be Doctors. 

It wasn't that surprising, really, that she got her acceptance e-mail on a Wednesday. 

It was short, curt, and just a little bit insulting. They'd been in New Mexico for about three days and four boxes of pop tarts before she realized that was just how Jane was. 

 

~*~

“The first step towards recovery is acceptance,” Darcy deadpanned, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep the smirk off her face. Her hair was dusted with white flour, and her once-white apron was now stained a rainbow of flavors. There was chocolate from the cupcakes, lemon from the the failed pie, and a bright strawberry pink from the tarts.

“Shut your insufferable mouth,” There was no venom in his voice, and a smile in his eyes. They were the same bright green of the pistachios she'd had him shelling.

“What? I'm just saying.” She hip-bumped the oven closed and leaned over to set the timer, “Say it with me- I am bad, and that's good-” 

“You watch too many films.” He scoffed and swept the pile of pistachio shells into the trash can beneath the counter. 

“You don't watch enough, I think we established that back when I made a reference about you and a corner, baby. C'mon, it's stress baking.” 

“...why are you stressed?” 

She snorted, “Let's see. I have an insane new friend who has me rambling about weird historical anomalies-” 

“I'm not your friend-” 

“-who is in denial.” 

“I'm not in denial.” 

“Dude, you've been checking out my ass all night.” 

“Don't call me dude.” He snapped back, voice echoing in the kitchen. The silence stretched between them in the wake of his words. 

She threw her head back and laughed, and after a moment's hesitation, he joined her. 

~*~

It was a Wednesday when Thor fell from where ever and got all this shit started. 

When SHIELD came back with her ipod and a written job offer for Jane, Darcy had been rather surprised to find herself on the list of terms and conditions. She'd kind of expected them to come back Men in Black style, with a flashy red pen. She was even more surprised when she accepted the offer. Jane was shocked that Selvig didn't. Darcy had become her constant. Her second set of eyes. She couldn't touch the experiments, but she was a bit better than a skull on a shelf for bouncing ideas off of. 

Somewhere in between being Darcy the College Student, and Darcy the Intern, she'd become Darcy Lewis, Scientist.

They stayed in New Mexico, looked after by various SHIELD agents and fielding a few visits from The Jerk Who Stole Her Ipod and Clint Barton, who didn't quite look standard issue.

It was a Tuesday when she found out he was Hawkeye, over too many tequila shots at Ruby's. 

(She had to deal with the hangover on Wednesday, though.) 

~*~

The elevator slid open with a sigh that always reminded her of Marvin from the Hitchhiker's Guide. They'd cleaned up the kitchen after finishing their only success, some reconfigured tarts. All in all, it had been a fun night- they'd each had another beer, though not one of Clint's. They'd talked lightly, mainly making fun of New Yorkers. It was unsteady common ground, but common ground none the less. 

She'd boxed up half the tarts for him, and offered to walk him back to his rooms. She'd normally blame the beer, but she'd barely had enough to get a buzz, let alone make poor decisions. And she was pretty sure this was a poor decision. 

 

“I kind of thought you would have, like, an ice palace or something,” She looked around the hallway in Sub Basement One, a small smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. 

“What?” He turned to look at her, keys halfway out of his pocket. Somewhere between the first bottle he'd gone from his leather armor to jeans and a t-shirt, she noted, and he seemed to have escaped the mess she'd made. 

“You know. Like a real evil villain.” She gestured with her free hand, the other gripping the cardboard box of baked goods. 

“I'm not a villa-” 

“Nope! No lies, remember? You're a super villain.” 

“You watch too many movies.” He smiled and shook his head. 

“Seriously, though. I was expecting large icicles, giant stalactites- those are the floor ones, right?” 

“No, those are stalagmites,” He pushed open the door to the apartment, frowning, “G. For ground.” 

“What?” 

“It's how you tell the difference,” He stepped aside to let her in, “Stalactites, c for ceiling, stalagmite, g for ground. It's how you tell.” 

“Huh.” She stopped to look around, “Thanks. Are there going to be any polar bears?” 

“What?” 

“Maybe an oversized throne, you know, for you to brood on-” 

“I don't brood.” 

“I don't see you denying the polar bears, bub.” 

“Darcy?” 

“Yes, your highness?” 

He tensed, and closed the distance between them. His kitchenette was just three steps away, but she stopped halfway there, turning. He hesitated for a heartbeat- towering over her, his back straight, nerves afire, “Shut up.” 

“Make me.” She smirked and leaned closer, the box of tarts between them. 

He met her mouth with his, a long-fingered hand sliding around her waist to pull her close. The box clattered to the floor, echoing off the linoleum. 

In Darcy's pocket, her Stark Phone quietly kept time, ticking over to 12:01am. 

Thursday.


End file.
